


Fire vs Ice

by blackwyrm



Category: Shadowhunters, Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Enemies, Gen, Post-Battle, Whump, short asf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-10-31 08:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwyrm/pseuds/blackwyrm
Summary: There is nothing human about him and everything human about her.A theory of interaction between the fiery and the devious.





	1. Chapter 1

Abruptly, she was dragged close. In his eyes, she was a toy, which he didn't need to handle well. _But I'm not your toy_, she protested by taking the only knife in her pocket and slashed his kagune from underneath to no avail. It was wounded and leaked blood, but dragged her all the same. _You can never use me to entertain yourself. Play with my limbs, string me like a puppet, or throw me like a ragdoll as you see fit, but if you want to play me ... _When she was close, finally close to him, she looked defiantly into the masked man, into the devilish red sparks in the black slits, whereas he would see the flaming will in her determined eyes, scorning at him as if he was nothing, just like the blood down her nose and mouth, the bruises discolouring her face, and the cracked bones constraining her limbs. Her life hanged by a thread, which the tendril, squeezing more tightly by every second, threatened to crush; but Clary was determined to not lose like a prey, and to let the man know that.

_... you're playing with fire._

He was in every bit a monster, terrifying with unblinking stare and an accurate and merciless killing streak. There was nothing human about him. However, there was everything human about her, lively rage at which he sneered and wild vegeance that he playfully tested to discover its extreme limits. She had roared out all of it in the beginning like a dragon spat wildfire, and even despite brought to the brink of defeat, there was still a bit of flame inside her. No matter how he tossed her around, she still twitched her limbs, lifted her head, fixated her green eyes into his masked ones. He was the coward, she supposed, hiding behind clownery and unable to bring out his eyes.

Once again, blood dripped out of her nose and her greasy chin felt more disgusting. The man looked down and scrutinized at it. Still holding her in a deadlock, he wiped away with an index finger, brought it to to his lips, and opened his dark lips.

After savouring her angelic tastes, he licked his lips. The mask can't smile, but his voice showed.

"Such high fortitude, little kitten ... Shall we put it to the test? Which one of us would be left standing <strike>laughing</strike>?"


	2. (Epilogue) Silly Mortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She refuses to succumb to the wicked. He has seen that not once.

Protest all you want, the way a warrior does. Rise again all you want, no matter how I cut your knees and crush your toes. Claim that your spirit is forevermore unbroken, for that is true. After all, your life is the game and I have been a player as long as you a warrior; as it extends, the more interesting hardships become. So don't ruin the show, because your task is simple and mine plentiful. I would like to see how your walls break down: How does your marks do wonders after I chop off your limbs? Why do you eagerly spit blood when they are at the danger of running out? Why are you still moving when I cracked thousands and thousands of your bones (you must know how fortunate only two of them ended up in my teeth; they taste like cookies pined over by lots of kids)? Standing up when your legs have taken too much weight? Gripping your sword when your hands are shaking, shaking like the defunct organs they are? Why are you still fighting a battle you can't win?

You see, I have a lot of tactics for consideration. And all you need to do? Is to only build your own. By doing what I exactly have mentioned.

_But foolish child, you are wrong —_

_Your deep wounds heal. But I can remake them, a lot deeper. You can spit blood in my face, and I will draw them out as smooth as water running out of a hose, or the wine pouring out of its bottle. You can still fight, you can piece together what little you have in your leg and call it a walk, you can conjure any hindrance for me with such unparalleled fierceness we can never have._

_But you don't understand the puppeteer can still play with a puppet without strings._


End file.
